Ben Jonson - The Poetaster Act 4. Scene 4 lyrics

[ Enter AUGUSTUS CAESAR, MECAENAS, HORACE, LUPUS, HISTRIO, MINUS, and Lictors. Caes. What sight is this? Mecaenas! Horace! say? Have we our senses? do we hear and see? Or are these but imaginary objects Drawn by our phantasy! Why speak you not? Let us do sacrifice. Are they the gods? [Ovid and the rest kneel. Reverence, amaze, and fury fight in me. What, do they kneel! Nay, then I see 'tis true I thought impossible: O, impious sight! Let me divert mine eyes; the very thought Everts my soul with pa**ion: Look not, man, There is a panther, whose unnatural eyes Will strike thee dead: turn, then, and die on her With her own d**h. [Offers to k** his daughter. Mec. Hor. What means imperial Caesar? Caes. What would you have me let the strumpet live That, for this pageant, earns so many d**hs? Tuc. Boy, slink, boy. [Exeunt Tucca and Pyrgus. Pyr. Pray Jupiter we be not followed by the scent, master. Caes. Say, sir, what are you? Alb. I play Vulcan, sir. Caes. But what are you, sir? Alb. Your citizen and j**eller, sir. Caes. And what are you, dame? Chloe. I play Venus, forsooth. Caes. I ask not what you play, but what you are. Chloe. Your citizen and j**eller's wife, sir. Caes. And you, good sir? [Exit. Caes. O, that profaned name!—- And are these seemly company for thee, [To Julia. Degenerate monster? All the rest I know, And hate all knowledge for their hateful sakes. Are you, that first the deities inspired With sk** of their high natures and their powers, The first abusers of their useful light; Profaning thus their dignities in their forms, And making them, like you, but counterfeits? O, who shall follow Virtue and embrace her, When her false bosom is found nought but air? And yet of those embraces centaurs spring, That war with human peace, and poison men.—- Who shall, with greater comforts comprehend Her unseen being and her excellence; When you, that teach, and should eternise her, Live as she were no law unto your lives, Nor lived herself, but with your idle breaths? If you think gods but feign'd, and virtue painted, Know we sustain an actual residence, And with the title of an emperor, Retain his spirit and imperial power; By which, in imposition too remiss, Licentious Naso, for thy violent wrong, In soothing the declined affections Of our base daughter, we exile thy feet From all approach to our imperial court, On pain of d**h; and thy misgotten love Commit to patronage of iron doors; Since her soft-hearted sire cannot contain her. Cris. Your gentleman parcel-poet, sir. Mec. O, good my lord, forgive! be like the gods. Hor. Let royal bounty, Caesar, mediate. Caes. There is no bounty to be shew'd to such As have no real goodness: bounty is A spice of virtue; and what virtuous act Can take effect on them, that have no power Of equal habitude to apprehend it, But live in worship of that idol, vice, As if there were no virtue, but in shade Of strong imagination, merely enforced? This shews their knowledge is mere ignorance, Their far-fetch'd dignity of soul a fancy, And all their square pretext of gravity A mere vain-glory; hence, away with them! I will prefer for knowledge, none but such As rule their lives by it, and can becalm All sea of Humour with the marble trident Of their strong spirits: others fight below With gnats and shadows; others nothing know. [Exeunt.